Death is haunting at our backs and life is roaring in our faces –

 – and we are somewhere in the middle,  
– supposed to be at peace?
The phrase “at peace” always seems to imply
a destination of sorts,
like a place of solace on a map somewhere
a city of refuge,
a haven.
Perhaps instead, it’s more a point of view
or an attitude, something from within
rather than without,
more internal than external,  
a crouched peace,
balanced, and anticipating,
poised on the wild edge
between the maelstrom
and the pursuer. 
One not found
in mimicking the stimulus,
and dreaming the conquest of our
caricatures of fear,
but, in quiet acceptance of
the immediate,
and the love
that brought us here to start with.
Consider a conversation between two friends:
“What is it you want Wyatt”
“I just want a normal life”
“There is no normal Wyatt,
there’s just life and you get on with it”
– from the movie Toombstone



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